“You understand,” I said, as I prepared to open the envelope, “that I am not Dr. Stillbury.  He is away at present and I am looking after his patients.”

“It doesn’t signify,” the man replied.  “You’ll do as well.”

On this, I opened the envelope and read the note, which was quite brief, and, at first sight, in no way remarkable.

“Dear sir,” it ran, “Would you kindly come and see a friend of mine who is staying with me?  The bearer of this will give you further particulars and convey you to the house.  Yours truly, H. Weiss.”

There was no address on the paper and no date, and the writer was unknown to me.

“This note,” I said, “refers to some further particulars.  What are they?”

The messenger passed his hand over his hair with a gesture of embarrassment.  “It’s a ridicklus affair,” he said, with a contemptuous laugh.  “If I had been Mr. Weiss, I wouldn’t have had nothing to do with it.  The sick gentleman, Mr. Graves, is one of them people what can’t abear doctors.  He’s been ailing now for a week or two, but nothing would induce him to see a doctor.  Mr. Weiss did everything he could to persuade him, but it was no go.  He wouldn’t.  However, it seems Mr. Weiss threatened to send for a medical man on his own account, because, you see, he was getting a bit nervous; and then Mr. Graves gave way.  But only on one condition.  He said the doctor was to come from a distance and was not to be told who he was or where he lived or anything about him; and he made Mr. Weiss promise to keep to that condition before he’d let him send.  So Mr. Weiss promised, and, of course, he’s got to keep his word.”

“But,” I said, with a smile, “you’ve just told me his name—­if his name really is Graves.”

“You can form your own opinion on that,” said the coachman.

“And,” I added, “as to not being told where he lives, I can see that for myself.  I’m not blind, you know.”

“We’ll take the risk of what you see,” the man replied.  “The question is, will you take the job on?”

Yes; that was the question, and I considered it for some time before replying.  We medical men are pretty familiar with the kind of person who “can’t abear doctors,” and we like to have as little to do with him as possible.  He is a thankless and unsatisfactory patient.  Intercourse with him is unpleasant, he gives a great deal of trouble and responds badly to treatment.  If this had been my own practice, I should have declined the case off-hand.  But it was not my practice.  I was only a deputy.  I could not lightly refuse work which would yield a profit to my principal, unpleasant though it might be.